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Parshat Noach

10/30/2022

At the conclusion of last week’s parsha, we read a teaser for this week’s. After the Genesis story doesn’t work out precisely as planned (Adam and Chava fall victim to serpentine wiles, then the third human on earth murders the fourth). In the introduction to the Noach story, Hashem resolves to blot out humanity but recognizes the good in Noach. There are two “tells” in the final paragraph of B’reshit. First, the name of G-d which is used is the four-letter version denoting the quality of Divine mercy. Second, the verb denoting Hashem’s regret at having created humanity shares a root with the word for compassion. It seems like the story is all set to progress the way all the storybooks and movies portray it; Noach the wise and just, who will dutifully preach and build a boat (ok, a really big boat) and be the savior of the human race.

What a difference a paragraph can make. As this week’s portion opens, things have subtly changed. The Divine name is now Elo-him, the aspect of justice. In addition, Noach is no longer the one who “found favor in the eyes of G-d.” The Torah delivers him a backhanded compliment, saying that he was “perfect in his generation; Noach walked with G-d (6:9).” The implication is that had Noach lived in some other generation, he would likely not have stood out as righteous in comparison with the immorality surrounding him. So Hashem gives him a chance to prove himself by taking on the mantle of trying to restore the faith and ethics of the degenerates surrounding him, right? Nope.

Noach is mute.

To be fair, his silence was the natural antidote to the societal breakdown surrounding him. According to Chazal (our blessed sages), the declining behavior of the population had spiraled out of control, starting with immorality and crimes which were committed in private, but ending with uncontrolled and unguarded activities which knew no limitations. On one level, therefore, Noach was dispatched to teach by example; one’s actions speak louder than their words, correct?

In a fascinating take on the story, several commentators imply that it was Noach’s reticence which was the cause of his being commanded to build, populate, and live in the ark—as a punishment. 6:14 says that Noach should “make [the ark] for yourself.” The penalty for not being a vocal prophet was the requirement to live on a boat with his family at least two of every animal for the better part of a year. The Zohar picks up the theme with the verse from Isaiah 54:9, found in our Haftarah, saying, “For like the waters of Noach shall this be to me…,” suggesting that the Flood was actually Noach’s fault for keeping his mouth shut!

But even so, the first known shipwright in the world is imperfect. Just when he should have learned his lesson, he gets back on dry land, plants a vineyard, gets drunk, and debases himself. Ironically, Noach’s descendants do have a takeaway from the story, however misguided. While their folly is trying to build a tower to the heavens for their own self-aggrandizement, they do make one tremendous improvement. While the generation of the Flood sinned against G-d and each other, the residents of Babel worked collectively toward a common goal—even though it resulted in their dispersal around the world—precisely what they hoped to avoid.

Perhaps we’re looking too hard at the story to find a perfect hero. The first generation fell out of favor when their innocence was confused with their ignorance. In the 10th, Noach is certainly a step in the right direction, but his fate reminds us that it’s not words or deeds that matter; it’s making your words and deeds be the best they can be. 10 more generations hence (in Torah time), the two will finally come together. Next week, we meet Abraham.

Shabbat Shalom, and a Good Month!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

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Sukkot Chol Hamoed

10/14/2022

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Why do we read Kohelet, the Book of Ecclesiastes, on the intermediate Shabbos of Sukkot? It’s a relatively dark book of the bible, one of the five megillot, or scrolls, which are assigned to the remaining two Festivals as well as to Purim and Tisha B’av. Kohelet, regarded as the poetry of King Solomon, is regarded as one of the most depressing books of the Bible, second perhaps to only Lamentations (Eicha). The text stresses the futility of humankind’s efforts, and the triumph of endemic processes, while acknowledging the supremacy of the Divine. Kohelet/Solomon’s mantra is “havel havalim, hakol havel (vanity of vanities, all is [in] vain.)” This is supposed to be a motivation or inspiration to live the easy life as opposed to the good?

Rabbi David Abudraham (14th C. Seville) suggests that the assignment of Kohelet to Sukkot was more than it being the one of the 5 megillot which didn’t have a clear thematic or seasonal tie to the holiday on which it is recited. Sure, Eicha belongs on the anniversary of the destruction of the Temple, Esther on Purim is, well…Purim, Ruth and Shir Hashirim (The Song of Songs) have seasonal tie-ins. Abduraham, and others, suggest that Kohelet was actually read to Israel by Solomon during Sukkot as a way of mitigating any feeling that if atonement for the last year was achieved on Yom Kippur, that starting the new year with a clean slate is not to be viewed as an opportunity to go on a sinful binge, thinking that you’ll catch up eventually. That would certainly take all of the meaning out of the season of repentance, would it not?

If you look carefully at the way that the 5 Scrolls (Chamesh Megillot) are assigned to each of the holidays, you see certain elements in common. Each of those 5 occasions has themes which take a negative and turn it into an actual or potential positive. The scrolls from the latter section of the Tanach (Hebrew Bible, or OT) all go there in their final verses, regardless of how or why they got there. Consider this:

ESTHER (PURIM) A story of oppression ends with a celebration of deliverance.

SONG OF SONGS (PESACH) The parallel up-and-down relationships between the author/lover and humankind/G-d ends with a prayer: “Flee, my Beloved, and like a gazelle or young deer, [be with me] on the fragrant mountain (a reference to the Holy Temple).

RUTH (SHAVUOT) The saga of familial mindgames and manipulation ends with a genealogy which leads us from the heroine to the Messianic line, descended from David.

EICHA (TISHA B’AV) After the harrowing descriptions of the horrors faced by the residents of Jerusalem, the final chapter is a prayer for retribution, but not without responsibility: “Bring us back to you, O G-d, and we shall return; renew our days as of old.”

And finally:

KOHELET (SUKKOT) “The last thing, when all has been heard: fear G-d and keep His commandments, for that’s what is humanity.” The ultimate statement to balance out the freedom we may feel or the license we may be empowered to take having made it through the High Holidays.

By all means, let us celebrate our holidays, our heritage, our opportunities, our past, present, and future. But let’s also remember that walking on the right path is more than just avoiding the bad. It’s also being proactive to prevent it in the first place.

It’s one thing to run away from an impending flood. It’s yet another to build a dike that will keep the water away from not only your house, but your neighbors’ as well.

Next year, may we celebrate Sukkot together, but may we also celebrate the fact that individually, locally, and globally, we have worked together to keep ourselves high and dry.

Shabbat Shalom, and Chag Sameach!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

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Parshat Ha'azinu

10/7/2022

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Last week, the parsha ended with the introduction of Moshe’s final ode to the people, the song that they should sing as a reminder and a touchstone should they stray…or be tempted to. As Moshe approaches his passing, this parsha is that song, followed by the details of its transmission, and G-d’s pronouncement that the prophet’s death is imminent.

If you were charged with writing Moshe’s final ode, what would you say, and to whom would you address it? A personal plea? A national request? A reminder of the high points of our history? A retelling of our low points? Moshe takes an interesting structural tack. He addresses the song to timeless heaven and earth, and likens his words to water, a classic metaphor for Torah. He then follows a symbolic chronology of Israel’s past, present and future. They were nourished by G-d in the past, will stray from the Divine in the present and near future, then head toward ultimate redemption in generations to come. Ha’azinu works on two simultaneous time lines. The first lasts from Creation forever; the second runs for the duration of our time here as a people, until Mashiach comes (however it is you want to understand that…). The universal mechanics which comprise Heaven and Earth predated and will outlast us. Our relatively limited time in our mortal sphere is significantly more limited.

Moshe’s song, however, gives us the tools to expand our term as residents from the moment on the sixth day when we were created at twilight, to the moment or era of Redemption. It is a song/poem which reminds us that strengths and weaknesses, blessings and curses, productivity and laziness, are all endemic to humanity. As we close out the High Holiday season, we all have realized that none of us is infallible; individually and as a group, we all are subject and likely to make missteps. The fundamental question, and invariably why this parsha always lands where it does, either just before or just after Yom Kippur, is this: what have we learned? Have we gained better tools to fix our problems, personally, locally, or globally, to avoid the abandonment which G-d describes in the middle section of Ha’azinu? Must we suffer in order to learn our lessons? Do we have the ability to jump the line, and pick up the story at its redemptive conclusion? One verse jumps out at me. “They are a generation of reversals, children without faith within them (Deuteronomy 52:20).” There’s the key. If we can teach ourselves and our children how to behave responsibly, equitably, fairly, and Divinely, then yes, we have the ability to achieve redemption. If we continue to tolerate or through our silence permit the forces of adversity to gain traction in our world, then we diminish our chances of being able to merit the World to Come.

I can’t tell you what the next incarnation of humanity will be like. I also can’t promise you what you need to do in order to help our fragile planet and its more fragile inhabitants achieve it. I can tell you that we’re clearly not doing enough. As I write this, the number of people who lost their lives due to aggression, human-induced climate change, nationalistic aspirations, or local conflicts, just over the past 48 hours, is staggering.

Moses was instructed to write, teach, and sing Ha’azinu as a way of bring us back should we lose our path.

If we start paying attention, let us pray that this is one song which we can ultimately sing in the past tense, instead of it being a plea to ensure our future.

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

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